|
A great way of looking at life
|
|
|
| LJ Daily Quiz: 10 November 2009 |
[10 Nov 2009|01:33pm] |
1. What was the longest running soap opera in television history?
2. "Sandman" character Delirium was once known by what name?
3. Sylvester Stallone and Viggo Mortensen star in which 1996 disaster film?
4. Artists Lori Kanary and Mark Beekman have each held world records in creating the largest versions of what toy?
5. "10538 Overture" was the first song produced by which band?
6. What lights up your day?
|
|
| 6 Months 2 Weeks |
[09 Nov 2009|02:40pm] |
       
I see your face in my mind as I drive away,
Cause none of us thought it was gonna end that way.
People are people,
And sometimes we change our minds.
But it’s killing me to see you go after all this time.
Mmm mmm mmm
Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm
Mmm mmm mmm
Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm
Music starts playin’ like the end of a sad movie,
It’s the kinda ending you don’t really wanna see.
Cause it’s tragedy and it’ll only bring you down,
Now I don’t know what to be without you around.
And we know it’s never simple,
Never easy.
Never a clean break, noone here to save me.
You’re the only thing I know like the back of my hand,
And I can’t,
Breathe,
Without you,
But I have to,
Breathe,
Without you,
But I have to.
Never wanted this, never wanna see you hurt.
Every little bump in the road I tried to swerve.
But people are people,
And sometimes it doesn’t work out,
Nothing we say is gonna save us from the fall out.
And we know it’s never simple,
Never easy.
Never a clean break, no one here to save me.
You’re the only thing I know like the back of my hand,
And I can’t,
Breathe,
Without you,
But I have to,
Breathe,
Without you,
But I have to.
It’s two a.m.
Feelin' like I just lost a friend.
Hope you know it’s not easy,
Easy for me.
It’s two a.m.
Feelin’ like I just lost a friend.
Hope you know this ain’t easy,
Easy for me.
And we know it’s never simple,
Never easy.
Never a clean break, noone here to save me.
Ohhh
I can’t,
Breathe,
Without you,
But I have to,
Breathe,
Without you,
But I have to.
|
|
| So Tell Us A Little About Yourself... |
[08 Nov 2009|05:34pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 nostalgic |
] |
I wrote this essay years ago. It was accepted for publication by Swink magazine but the editor told me she thought so much of it she'd really like to see it published somewhere else, somewhere "bigger" and by someone who'd pay me (how cool is she?). She then recommended Nerve.com and told me to drop her name to the editor there. So I did.
Will@Nerve.com never replied to my 2 emails so I contacted Swink's editor again and told her "just go ahead and publish it." That I loved their magazine and was honored to be accepted there in the first place. She never got back to me.
Now I have this essay without a home. So I'm posting it here, even though it's so old (4-5 years) I hardly recognize the voice which is just so much darker than I've been in a long time. Anyway people seem to like it and I always did too (but Mom, you should probably pass on this one). SO, TELL US A LITTLE ABOUT YOURSELF...
I wish sometimes Diane Keaton was my mother. She laughs all the time and wears funky outfits. In 1975 she drove herself to the Oscars and parked in the theater’s underground garage. Once, on “Oprah” she read boring but cute letters from her kids out loud.
I like parking garages. I used to have sex in my ex-boyfriend’s parking garage, the basement of a fifteen story high-rise in Westwood, Los Angeles. We also did it on the roof and almost on the balcony of his penthouse but the building was fifty years old and I was afraid the wrought iron railing would break.
He tied me up naked to other balconies, hotels mostly. In Florida the sea air had rotted some sliding door casings and ours fell three stories, shattering glass on the sidewalk below. At the Four Seasons in Austin I had a view of the river. At least half the other guest room balconies had a view of me but I didn’t see anyone step out. A security guard had been posted outside our door because my boyfriend’s reputation preceded him. They made us promise not to throw any parties and let us stay one night. They didn’t think to put a guard on our balcony.
We did it in the baby changing room of an airport in Australia once. The employees were on strike and the place was nearly vacant. That was some of the best sex we ever had. We had a threesome with another guy in the bathroom of an airplane once. We picked him up in Coach Class on a long flight to Tokyo. He was going to work on an oil rig for six months. We shared our cocaine with him because my boyfriend had brought too much for a fourteen hour flight.
We had mostly kinky sex, with long drawn out scenarios and roles to play. Often I was a kitten made to crawl and “mew.” Usually I was tied up, hooked to the ceiling or bedposts, sometimes blindfolded. Rarely allowed to move without permission. I missed straight sex a lot—heat, passion, abandon. Connection. For some reason, all that stuff intimidated him. I fucked his road manager for exactly one year. Then I dumped him over dinner at a Greek restaurant on Ventura Blvd so I’d have more time to smoke crack.
I live on the other side of the railroad tracks from Peter Pan – no lie (it’s a putt-putt golf course). This is fitting because I did the opposite of “never growing up.” Instead, I was an old lady by the age of four. I share a birthday with Lois Lane and Evil Knievil.
I shared a lover once with Lois Lane, aka Margot Kidder. He was an artist and a fabulous fuck. He had eyes greener than margaritas, a slight build and a huge cock. He built a sort of mansion with earth and stone floors by the river. He dug a natural swimming hole for a pool where fish would swim with me at night. He lived in a silver trailer in the front yard but when I stayed over we’d sleep in the house. He’d cook me pasta sauce and omelets with herbs from the garden growing out of the living room floor.
I know more about men and women than anyone really should. And I know nothing at all about coupling. All about bondage, but not bonding. By the time I find middle ground I’ll be too set in my ways for anything to grow in it. I don’t have a green thumb. My cat survives despite me.
I’m like my cat, a survivor, damaged but you can’t tell to look at her. A lifetime spent prowling on her own, in the elements, now she just wants a little attention and pampering. Actually a lot, but I make time. She likes when I sing to her. At least I think she does. I sing a couple Bee Gees tunes, also Amazing Grace and Somewhere over the Rainbow because I know the words. Men used to sing to me. Songs have been written about me.
Once, when I saw my ex after a long time apart, we had two minutes to hug and chat before he took the stage at Stubbs Barbeque. He said his wife was too jealous of me for us to remain in contact. When I sat in the audience watching him play, he looked into my eyes, shook his head sadly and sang to me, “Turn your pretty head and walk away.”
A lot of my life is like a movie. One of those really good, obscure dramas that no one rents because it looks like it might involve too much thinking on their part. I guess I’m high maintenance. I should have subtitles, but I don’t think it would help.
|
|
| Buncha god damn pics |
[08 Nov 2009|01:45pm] |
No really it is a buncha goddamn pics. from the random shoot.
   
   
   
   
  
|
|
| Looky Dookie, Jukie Cukie |
[05 Nov 2009|11:37am] |
...and by the power of ham, we have come to the eleventh month. Hooray for ham!
Ok, ham has nothing to do with this. Pudding does, though. Not ham pudding; that sounds unpleasant. But not as unpleasant as the unpleasantness that might unpleasantly occur should you skip out on this week's quiz of un-unpleasantness. Play it now! Before calamity strikes! Unless you paid Calamity to strike you, in which case, carry on.
Go. Play. Take Quiz.
|
|
| Open Letter to All Male Strip Club Personnel |
[04 Nov 2009|10:28am] |
|
In 13 years of exotic dancing, I have seen this business from every angle. I’ve seen it through the eyes of a frightened teenage girl and the mind of a self-aware, sober goddess. Through a smudged full-length mirror, foggy red lighting and drunken double vision.
From the inside of a tequila shot (or ten), a broken bathroom stall, a cramped but cozy DJ booth. From a sagging, smelly sofa, a dirty denim lap, a dangerously slick stage. From the best club in Texas to the peak of Las Vegas, the best times in the business to the depths of a recession.
From a hard hustle to a soft sell, a rigid bulge to a bruised labia. From a the dark corner of a private VIP Room to a sobbing sister in a trashed out dressing room. From inside a man’s pants to inside a man’s head. From a broken heart to a broken back, to a full body slide to purse full of cash.
From the unwelcome saliva of strangers and the nibbling of piranhas to their longing adoration and the time of my fucking life. From erotic and emotional connection to frigidity and dissociation. From beauty to horror – sometimes in the same night, sometimes in the same moment.
I have seen this work, the business of male desire and human desperation, navigating intimate engagement entwined with survival mechanism deflection. This work has damaged me, uplifted me, gutted me, healed me, saved me and cursed me. It has defined me while robbing my authenticity.
I have seen this business from every imaginable position. From my knees to your pedestal to doggie-style simulation on worn & splintered linoleum. From complete exhilaration to pitiful demoralization.
And you?
You, dear sirs, have seen it from exactly ONE side – that of the OUTSIDE looking IN. And I suggest you remember that fact from here on out, every day that you strut around your silly little kingdoms knowing absolutely nothing about the experience of those of us that built it.
|
|
| LJ Daily Quiz: 3 November 2009 |
[03 Nov 2009|10:01am] |
1. Fun with lyrics! Name the song:
Don't tell me the lights are shining
Anyplace but there
We will dance the "Hoochie-Koochie"
I will be your "Tootsie-Wootsie"
2. What Russian city was named Leningrad until 1991?
3. Who is the current Welterweight Champion of the UFC?
4. The character Simon Templar is more commonly referred to as whom?
5. Fun with quotes! Name that film:
"So now we got a huge guy theory, and a serial crusher theory. Top notch."
6. What's the nicest thing you've ever done?
|
|
| Schedule Update |
[02 Nov 2009|05:33pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 resigned |
] |
NOV 5th & 6th:
Thur/Fri, Perfect 10, dayshift (11a-7p) though I may stay late on Friday.
Unfortunately, as much as I like the Yellow Rose, there are a couple issues keeping me from working there right now, both having to do with my physical health (and that of all their dancers, really).
The stage has dangerous, sharp nicks in it, especially bad around the light fixture at the base of the pole. I've already gotten 2 deep, ugly bruises (and almost broke the skin on my knee once) plus keep catching my heel on it so I've almost stumbled a couple times too. A less experienced dancer could easily fall flat on her face and I wish I'd asked around to see if it's happened, but I forgot to.
The other, more important reason, is about the new sound system which is, in a word, TOO FUCKING LOUD. I'm sorry, but I really think (as does the fucking medical community I might add) that 92-100 decibels is dangerous. IT CAUSES HEARING DAMAGE, actually.
I could write volumes about this but frankly can't spare the energy these days (which is why I'm quitting the club instead of making a big stink about this and before you ask, YES, I did try the diplomatic route but since I work in strip clubs for strip club managers you can guess exactly how far THAT got me). Long story short, after speaking with the DJ and dayshift manager the DJ became a 12 year old (shocker) and the manager politely informed me he didn't need help running his club from someone who'd just started working there.
The fact that literally DOZENS of his customers complain TO ME about the ridiculously loud music seemed to have no bearing on the discussion. I found out later from a friend of his that he very likely has hearing loss and doesn't believe me that it's too loud. Apparently he's also somewhat BLIND to the larger-than-life red digital display indicating constant levels of up to 15 points over the recommended SAFE 85 decibels.
Last Friday my temples were throbbing and my ears were ringing from the time I left the club to the time I fell asleep (4 hours later). Twice that day I started to lose my voice and all Saturday morning it was sore and raspy. That's after just one shift so I can't imagine how bad it would be if I'd worked there 2 or 3 days in a row.
I know that no one I work for gives a flying fuck about me or my health. I'm not an idiot. I'm a stripper and no one really gives a shit about us. So be it. I'll go back to Perfect 10 where customers blow smoke in my face, the building is full of mold, the bathroom stalls have no lights (wtf?), the VIP couches are falling apart (wow, way to treat your VIPs), we're not allowed to wear lingerie anymore (not for nothing but if you want to "class the place up" try enforcing the rules and/or fixing the furniture... just sayin) and they still make us do 3 hours of 2-for-1s (unlike Sugar's and the Yellow Rose who finally saw the light). I'm especially looking forward to the 90 minute round trip drive and extra expense of $20 a day in gas and house fees.
But they get the best crowds (if you can call them that) and I like the managers, Aaron & Lawrence, a lot. Also, I love my locker - it's the cleanest one in the whole dressing room.
And is thankfully NOT under these particular ceiling panels.
However IS uncomfortably close to this lovely little reminder of the nasty crap in their HVAC (Palazio's ceilings are spotless - you could eat off 'em, you know if it wasn't for gravity... just sayin).
|
|
|
[30 Oct 2009|12:49am] |
And ok fine, yes, it was nice to not have to think for a change.
But who wants someone that doesn't think?
Look! And sometimes you laugh when I cry,
and you say "huh" when I make perfect sense.
|
|
| Laugh, Jaffa, Daffy, Quaff |
[29 Oct 2009|10:32am] |
The extra F's are for Fun! Frolicking! Fahrvergnuegen! Fornicating! And maybe Forgetfulness, if you've forgotten to fill out this week's quizly goodness. If you have, then F is for Fanfriggintastic! If you forgot, then F is for Failure Most Foul. But you can change Failure to Fanfriggintastic in one quick step! Just fill out the quiz, and watch failure melt away, like fat in Fight Club. Funderful!
This post brought to you by the letters F and PH, and by the hexadecimal number F, because fifteen has two F's. Two! That's more than one! And that's terrible.
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
stolefromclark's Friends Page
